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"Edward Wolyn banished the God of Terror as the God of Light's physical vessel? Then it's settled—the war with Selwyn is truly over, isn't it?"
Garcia rode astride a galloping steed, gripping a magitech transmitter in his hand. He was in communication with the Nightblades' headquarters. He was surprised and gratified; quiet joy bloomed in his heart.
"Yes, it's over," came the weary, relieved voice on the other end. "The other kingdoms watching from the shadows at our borders have withdrawn upon receiving the news. The Four Dukes gave them no opportunity to send spies into the kingdom. The war is over. As for what comes next… that can wait. We've earned our rest."
All of Aleisterre was drained—in mind, body, and soul. But now, with the divine miracle of the God of Light having obliterated the God of Terror, the war had truly ended.
The aftermath could wait. None of them were made of iron, and even the soul needed rest.
"If there's something you want to do, go on," the voice continued. "You have a close friend from the cursebinding spire, right? Take some time...
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